Grayscale
by Marmona
Summary: Feeling the stress of being the Pokemon League's heir, Black's heart has become as dark as his name. N is busy keeping his mannerisms virtuously white in order to hide from something dangerous within himself. Drawn together by the worst kind of theft, the two engage in a deadly business with wild pokemon in order to make things right...but were things ever right in the first place?
1. Chapter 1

ASHWOOD FOREST, 3:28AM

Loneliness gives the dark a physical presence. It crawls under the skin like a thousand miniature venipede legs, causing the heart to flutter and the brain to go faint. N paused to pull his coat tighter about himself, gaining a false sense of security from its touch. He wanted Zahir to be with him, but for all he knew something could be lurking past the range of his lamp. **_They_** were a paranoid culture. The presence of his zoroark could be all the incentive needed for an attack.

For the umpteenth time the light flickered and he glanced around to reassure himself that it was a shadow and not a living thing that had lurked into his space.

N loved pokemon, he really did. It was just horrifying to be stalked by one in the forest. Alone. At night. The light flickered again like a whip and vanished. He blinked and couldn't even tell that his eyes had closed. N shuddered.

_"Keep your pokemon in their balls." _

A telepathic voice touched his mind.

N did not realize his hand was hovering over Zahir at his waist. He pulled it away.

_"Good boy." _

The darkness was pushed away by the florescent glow of the pokemon's rings. An umbreon. N relaxed. He'd imagined something much bigger.

The umbreon sat before him, poised like a cat. Her eyes refracted light like mirrors as she looked him up and down. She leaned forward, sniffed in his direction, and finally said, _"My name is Mila. Because of my experience with humans I've been assigned to be your partner in overlooking Recovery Center Three."_

Her eyes glittered up at him. _"There are no humans in this war. Why are you getting involved?" _

N appreciated her bluntness.

"I have a moral obligation." There was something more, but N felt it better not to say.

_"Morals." _Mila deadpanned. _"Morals will not protect you from death."_

"I'm aware, thank you."

The umbreon did something along the lines of a shrug and circled his legs slowly, brushed her flank against his calf briefly and went to make a fighting stance at a distance. An edge of excitement sharpened her mental voice.

_"Enemy patrols will not begin until dawn. We have until then to see how well your pokemon can fight."_

* * *

_UNOVAN POKEMON LEAGUE, 3:28 PM_

"Areal Ace!"

Tsarmina the liepard propelled herself into the air, a sinewy beast of muscle and loose skin. Her polished ebony claws caught the unsuspecting braviary in the gut as he was in the midst of a wing attack. His wings beat frantically to maintain altitude but ended up drawing both himself and the big cat high above the posh arena.

"Shadow Claw!"

It hardly needed to be said. Grimsley's faithful cat had already slid her hooked claws into the bird and was tugging upwards. Her foreleg quivered with effort as the bird began to shriek.

"Oh Arceus!" The challenger cried. "Stop! I forfeit!"

Tsarmina kicked off the braviary with her hind legs and dove the stomach churning distance to the ground. She landed perfectly on all fours and returned to her master's side to self-servingly push her forehead under his palm. Downy feathers sprinkled over the stage like snow.

Grimsley scratched her behind the ears "If somebody wins a battle, then, without doubt, someone else has lost the battle. That's the way of battle. A real warrior doesn't dash off in pursuit of the next victory, nor throw a fit when experiencing a loss. A real warrior ponders the next battle."

The challenger glared at him over his injured braviary. "That was a dirty move."

"Ah. Well, welcome to the pokemon league." Grimsley tossed the boy a full restore. "Perhaps next time luck will smile on you."

Grimsley waited until he was gone to kneel and give Tsarmina an adoring kiss on the cheek. "You were stunning."

On the leather couch behind Grimsley, almost unnoticeable in the scene, Unova's champion lounged on his back with one foot hanging just above the ground. "You say that every time." Black said.

Grimsley didn't look away from his liepard. "What?"

"The warrior thing."

The elite trainer nodded. In fact, he repeated it so often that the meaning was void. "The League requires me to say it for show. When you start working here you'll get your own phrases to memorize."

"The more I learn about this place, the less I want to work here."

Grimsley went to stand over Black. He looked like he wanted to say something, but walked past instead and took a seat at his desk. The surface was pushed against the back of the couch so that it remained out of view from the arena's many cameras.

Black could not see him, but he could hear the unzipping of a cosmetics bag and knew that Grimsley was reapplying his makeup for the umpteenth time that afternoon. He frowned. This is exactly what was bothering him. The pokemon league was so _superficial_.

Alder was so old that he needed a pill calendar, Caitlyn pretended to sleep in front of her challengers, Shauntal wrote mostly fanfiction and Marshal's veins were so distended that Black was pretty sure he was taking steroids.

"Would it _kill_ you to sit properly?" Apparently the remark Grimsley was holding back finally got past his lips.

And what about Grimsley? Black straightened up and turned to look at him. Watching the aristocratic "gambler" brush on foundation, he wouldn't be surprised to hear that he had never stepped foot in a casino.

Black stood. "I'm heading off."

"Alder won't like that."

"Does that matter?"

Grimsley put the mirror down with a hard snap. "You know, Alder doesn't HAVE to give you his position. He could easily pick someone out of Smogon University's alumni."

Black held his tongue and considered that. It seemed very unlikely, given that the media end of the pokemon league would birth a miltank if it had to take back all of the hype it had constructed around Black. Still, it _might_ be possible. With a sigh, he fell into the couch on his back once again. "Arceus damn it."

"Posture, Black."

"Fuck off."

He heard Grimsley sigh. "Can I tell you something?"

"No."

"Just give it a few years. It's not like you're too old to try something different if you end up unhappy."

"FUCK OFF."

Grimsley stayed silent this time. _Good. _Black hated his dainty voice. It didn't suit an elite trainer.

Black hated how Grimsley could be satisfied with being fake. He hated how all the elite trainers made him believe they were something greater than they really were. He hated how he didn't figure this out before he defeated the league, because now he had the opportunity he thought he always wanted and he was terrified to let it go. He was terrified of getting stuck too.

Tsarmina, oblivious to Black's inner turmoil, trotted past him and trilled to her trainer like a pidove. Grimsley's laugh sounded like a girl's.

This place was a living hell.

Later that night, Black returned to his new, League sponsored apartment. It was spacious with two bedrooms, 2 bathrooms, and a 230 square foot living room. The walls and furniture had a color theme of honey, red and white, and the kitchen counters were topped with Wausau granite. There was enough room for a family to live comfortably, yet Black occupied the space by himself.

Above the headrest there was a 30x40 canvas which Black had rescued from the street curb. He was no painter, and had no desire to be. However, he found that on bad says he would find himself grabbing a bottle of black shoe polish and leaving a round smudge with his thumb. This night he added another spot.

When he stood back and smiled, it was not an expression of pride at his skill, or the reflection of some private and entertaining thought. That is not at all what Black's smiles meant anymore. When someone creates he cannot help but leave a part of himself in the work. And so it was with morbid curiosity that Black observed the collection of black that swarmed over the canvas like shiny durants.

He washed his hands and crept under the sheets. It was early for him to sleep, but he felt a chill. Maybe he would wake up sick and not have to attend the battles tomorrow. Maybe he would die in his sleep. Did he really just think that? Black flipped over.

His stomach hurt and he wasn't sure if it the ache was real or psychological. Something was missing in his life, Black didn't know what. Was it a loss of purpose? Was it loneliness? That would be ironic. Black was an introvert.

His mind began to meander back and forth between sleep and consciousness. He was ready to doze off, but the pain kept pulling him back. Slowly, it grew stronger and like a dragon dancing haxorus, it hit him suddenly and with devastating force.


	2. Chapter 2

At promptly 6:00 in the morning, Alder rose from his quarters in Opelucid City and brewed himself a cup of coffee. The air was still and the sun cast a soft glow upon his apartment. The television murmured softly but he was too lost in blissful thought to pay it any attention other than to note appreciation for the white noise. He looked out the window.

The fading dawn left a wash of lavender in its wake. Alder liked the color. It was a mild intermediate that appeared fleetingly in nature. Even then, it is only noticed by those of patient mind. The world needed more patient minds.

Alder's speculation was interrupted when the television mentioned a familiar name. He turned, and, to his surprise, saw a low resolution video of an ambulance withdrawing from Black's apartment building.

After the initial wave of dread, he felt anger. Black had been retrieved nearly 7 hours ago. He rightfully felt that the hospital, the league's network, or SOMEONE- should have contacted him. Was it not his recognized responsibility to watch over Unova's future champion? He summoned his Braviary, Harris, and flew to the hospital.

He had to push his way through a swarm of reporters and photographers in order to even enter the waiting room and after he had done this, the receptionist told him that Black was not permitted to have visitors.

"I insist you make an exception." Alder asserted.

The receptionist was cowed. He looked a bit like Cheren and adjusted his glasses needlessly under the Champion's stare. "Let me get the doctor for you instead."

Alder was asked to wait in an obscure room that could easily be mistaken for a janitor's closet by its featureless door.

"Hello, Alder" The doctor greeted as she entered the room.

"Dr. Angela." He stood to shake her hand. "What happened to Black?"

She regarded him patiently, but carefully. "First of all, I need you to sign this to confirm that you are replacing Grimsley's parents as his closest relative, which by law we were required to limit the knowledge of his current condition to.

"Where are his relatives?"

"He disowned them."

Alder signed the papers.

"Black is physically healthy." She said as he handed back the clip board. "He ingested a lethal dose of quilfish venom last night and called after the stomach pains became unbearable."

"That's all?" Alder asked. "All of this formality for food poisoning?"

"No, I said he is physically healthy. We have yet to evaluate his mental health. The venom was not ingested on accident, Alder. The contents we pulled from the gastric lavage didn't contain any meat. We're looking at this as a potential case of attempted suicide."

Alder was silent for a moment. "That's a very wild assumption."

"Not really. His medical records from Castelia hospital indicate that he was considered a high-risk patient. When you see him, don't say anything that might upset him."

"I could have figured that for myself."

"It's just required, that's all." Dr. Angela smiled humorlessly. "Go ahead, now, Alder. He's in the special ward on the top floor, room M-4."

Black was sitting up in his bed, looking restless despite the defined shadows under his eyes. An attentive Sawk watched him from the bedside. It was a hospital employee.

Alder found it odd to see Black in the hospital gown. It didn't match his youth.

"Alder." Black greeted him warily. "Is the paparazzi here?"

"…no"

"You're lying."

"Not in the building, at least. That is the truth."

Black sighed and leaned back into his pillow. No doubt bad photos of him would be displayed on the front those gossip magazines, enshrined on every grocery isle in Unova by the next day.

Alder was silent. Black could feel the champion turning something over in his mind. He sat up again uncomfortably. "What?"

"What happened?" The champion asked.

Black frowned, detecting Alder's an air of paternal suspicion in his tone. "Someone put quilfish venom in my Lean Cuisine, Alder."

"Are you sure?"

Black looked at him sharply. "YES. What do you think happened?" Upon the champion's refusal to answer, he thrust his hands up in exasperation. " Arceus! You think I've tried to kill myself!"

Alder put a hand on Black's shoulder."Calm down."

Black shrugged him off, but he lowered his voice and spoke through closed teeth."Listen to me. They wrote that down seven years ago because of something that happened- something that looked completely different than what it actually was!"

"What-"

"Don't ask."

"I'm sorry."

"Only for the ruckus you've caused." Black snapped the sheets over himself and turned away. Then as an afterthought, he added, "If you really want to help, try finding out who wants to kill me."

Upon no further response from Black, Alder left with his jaw set.

Black was as likable as he was rude. It was a perplexing split of personality. Alder secretly could not stand the young trainer's blunt insensitivity towards other people, especially since he constantly displayed cordiality to others while he was on television. It was as if he reserved his insolence for those whom knew him best.

Alder received a text from his ailing heir as he was flying home. "_I don't know how long I will be here. If you can, send my pokemon over. My belt is on the counter."_

Grudgingly, Alder texted back. _"Sure."_

Yet, Black still proved himself attractive to almost everyone; and not in a sexual sense, but his withdrawn nature gave him an air mystery that drew people's attention, including Alder, towards him- just as cats are drawn to the very people whom disregard them the most.

"Harris, we're changing course to Black's home."

Their arrival to the apartment complex drew back more than a few curtains.

Alder took the stairs to Black's home. He possessed a key, but in the haste of emergency it seemed that the paramedics had not bothered to lock the door. He helped himself inside and into the kitchen where the polished counter was bare of anything save for a decorative ceramic servine. No belt in sight.

Alder checked under the purrloin. Nothing. How long had the door been unlocked?

He glanced around and summoned his reuniclus, Malachi, to help him scour the apartment. They searched cupboards, closets, drawers, cabinets, and under every piece of furniture. Alder purposely skipped searching too hard in certain areas of the home, but he was still sweating a little with guilt.

_"REI!"_ Malachi exclaimed as examined the contents of the cupboard.

"If I don't need to know, leave it be." Alder answered as he pulled the blanket back over a rather handsome poker table. He was still for a moment in thought and then opened the door to the bedroom. It was extremely tidy and thus it was easy to determine that the belt was not there. The art on the wall made Alder pause, although he didn't understand it. The longer he stared at the swarm of black dots, the more he came to interpret that it meant something disturbing. He closed the door and left.

* * *

"So you haven't talked to him?" The youngest brother of the Shadow Trio, Dustin, served his Lord Ghetsis green tea as he asked.

"Why should I? He's a degenerate. I couldn't care less where he goes to rot.

The young man put the tray aside on the coffee table sat on his knees like a loyal dog. The practice was from habit and his attentiveness was feigned. Unlike his master, Dustin pondered N's well being. After 18 years of witnessing the mild-mannered youth progress from infancy to adulthood, he couldn't help but feel unbalanced by the void left by his sudden disappearance.

Something touched the walls. Dustin felt the vibrations in his feet and stood up quickly.

"What is it?" asked Ghetsis.

The door opened quickly, but silently. Dustin's older brothers, with soundless tread and black cloth over their mouths and noses entered. The first to enter pulled his bandana away with a flourish of a magician and smiled triumphantly as his identical brother presented Ghetsis with a clutch of pokeballs. They were encased with leathery skins to keep them locked shut.

Ghetsis picked one out and examined it, running his thumb under the leather to feel the customized silver rim on the ball. He was satisfied, and praised the young men fondly for their work before handing them back.

"Put them in the safe. By the time Team Plasma has regained its bearings our trainers will have broken them. These six will be leading the battles in the Admin tier. I want you three to overlook their progress."

Matthew, the oldest, tapped Dustin on the nose as if his brother were a mischievous herdier. "Are you sure Dustin can handle that? You know how he battles."

"We wouldn't want a repeat of that embarrassing incident in Mistralton." Dean, the middle child, added with reproach.

Dustin pushed Matthew's finger away, "Anyone given a level 60 to battle with for the first time is going to have obedience issues."

"I would never give YOU a level 60." Matthew said with the same tone that he used with the grunts.

"Boys." Ghetsis' tired voice incited the triplets' immediate attention. "Please."

They apologized in unison and Ghetsis went on to explain their next mission.

"That foppish man from Castelia?" Matthew interrupted. "But why?"

"Because he's an easy target." Ghetsis said. "Honestly, I don't know how we overlooked him until now. He paints in the central plaza on his days off and walks home to a one-person apartment at night. The pokemon he carries with him are weak because of the tier of his gym, but he's got a stronger collection in his PC."

"We just need to get the password out of him." A smile appeared on Matthew's face as some wicked idea occurred to him. This would take just a fraction of the planning they needed for Black. Black was a complex and underhanded task, made possible mostly because of his introvertedness and medical history. Even then, stealing from him had required extensive research and carefully placed bribes. None of this a mere grunt could be trusted to do, and so this also drew out the process…

Burgh would be much easier.


End file.
